Ruthless Prince : A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Dark Syndicate Book 1)

by Faith Summers

  They took her the night of his wedding and sent her head in a box to Tristan, giftwrapped, the very next day. We then found her body in parts, scattered all over LA. That’s not something you get over. Tristan and Alyssa had been together since high school.

  “Tristan. You know as well as I do that Mortimer Viggo is not an easy man to find.” I sound like a pussy for saying that. It’s the truth though. We must have searched all four corners of the globe for two years looking for that piece of shit and never found him.

  I know it crushed Tristan to no end when it became clear that we had to give up the search. But now Vlad is back from the dead. His presence here in LA could only be happening if Mortimer Viggo ordered it.

  “Fuck, Massimo.” He balls his fists and seethes. “I can’t tell you how screwed I feel right now.”

  I get up and walk around to him and rest my hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Please do not do anything until we have more information.” I want to tell him not to do anything stupid but think better of it.

  I can’t say that to him. Whatever he chose to do would not be stupid in regard to retaliation and making sure the dead stay dead. I know him though. He’s a man like me. Vengeance is his when he decides. He hates feeling helpless or being in the dark about anything.

  “I know if you were me, you’d do something about it,” Tristan points out.

  “I am going to do something about it.” I just don’t want to lose my brother. Rest assured, that is exactly what would happen. I’d lose him. “Tristan. This guy has been a ghost for the last five years and suddenly resurfaces. Clearly, some plot of shit is happening.”

  “Right under our noses,” he intones. I press my lips together. “Massimo, clearly, Pierbo died because he saw him. Vlad wouldn’t have wanted our guy to find out he was alive and back in our city.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” I agree. “I can’t allow him to do whatever it is he’s doing though.” The last five years were his get-out-of-jail card.

  “You’d be rocking the nest, Massimo,” Tristan points out. Worry filling his eyes.

  “I know.” Of course, I know. Rocking the fucking nest would stir trouble. I’m boss, and if Pa were boss, he would say the same as me. “We look into it, get our best men out there, and try to find him no matter where he is. We kill his ass and make sure we cut off his fucking head this time. For Alyssa.”

  He releases a sharp breath and nods. “Thank you, brother. It’s a hard thing for a man to accept he was useless to the one person who needed him the most. Vlad and his band of fuckers stole her from me, and I never knew until it was too late. I keep remembering how it happened. I took her home. We were supposed to be leaving for our honeymoon the next day. I went into the kitchen to get the champagne, and when I came out, she was gone. That was it. The one thing I had to hold on to was killing him, but he’s not dead.”

  “Tristan, let’s stay focused and get this guy. He declared war by coming back here.”

  Before I got home, I went to the scene, the place where it all played out five years ago.

  The Vincent Thomas Bridge. That is where Tristan and I thought we killed Vlad.

  We were fighting on the bridge. Blow for blow, bullets flying. There were four of us in the end. Me and Tristan. Vlad and Aleksei, his right-hand man.

  I stabbed Aleksei right in the eye and ended him. At the same time, Tristan shot Vlad. I saw it happen. They were paces away from me. That bullet went in his heart and he fell. He fell right over the bridge and even hit the panels before he went into the sea.

  The bullet should have killed him instantly, but if that didn’t get him, the fall should have. The drop is three hundred and sixty-five feet. So, he should have been fucked either way. Yet Vlad is alive. Pierbo saw him and got caught.

  I thought Riccardo had Pierbo killed. Now it makes sense. Pierbo was a force to be reckoned with. Only a man like Vlad Kuznetsov and the Circle of Shadows could take down a man like him. So, now I have more shit on my hands.

  More things to get me dirty, and those close to me. Tristan said it well when he talked of rocking the nest. I would be doing exactly that. Rocking an ants’ nest. The thing about that, though, is that they don’t bother you until you disturb them.

  When you do, they all come for you.

  They come for you and wipe out whoever is with you.

  Right now, we have the advantage. Vlad doesn’t know we know he’s alive. He must think he got us good with Pierbo’s death and destroying the camera.

  There’s no way I’m going to be able to keep the fact that we know he’s alive quiet. To look for him, I’m gonna have to ask questions, meaning he’ll know we’re looking.

  That’s the risk I’ll have to take.

  I make my way home and walk into Emelia’s room. She’s asleep, and I don’t plan to wake her. The lights are out with just the moonlight spilling in onto her ethereal body.

  She even looks like a princess in her sleep. Graceful with her dark locks flowing over the pillow and her hands rested at her sides.

  The report on her today was that she was quiet. Priscilla said she barely spoke and did what she was told to do. She tried on her wedding dresses and didn’t like any. I don’t know if that means she was being difficult or if she genuinely didn’t like them.

  The seamstress is coming back tomorrow. I don’t want to be a bastard and pick a dress for her. I already feel bad enough about the ring.

  She stirs, as if she can sense me concocting shit. I back away quietly toward the door.

  Emelia will be my wife in a few weeks.

  Five years ago, I didn’t have anybody like that.

  Now I do.

  Rocking the nest to find Vlad means I’ll involve her too.

  If I get it wrong, it won’t just be me I have to worry about.

  I’ll have to worry about her too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emelia

  I gaze ahead to the long mirror at my reflection. My heart squeezes.

  This wedding dress is beautiful, very beautiful.

  It looks like it was pulled from a fairytale. Definitely fit for a princess. Its sleeveless bodice hugs my frame, accentuating my breasts and the tiny curve of my waist. The endless length of fabric flowing from the body creates that magical effect flirting with my legs as I move.

  I can imagine all eyes on me on the big day. I’ve tried on ten dresses today, and this one looks the best.

  I really didn’t like the ones yesterday, but if I’m honest, I didn’t try all that hard. I always felt, though, when you see the dress you want, you wouldn’t have to try. You’d fall for it the same way you fell for the guy. He’d be the one, and the dress would be the one. That’s if it was real.

  If it were real, I’d pick this dress. This morning, I thought I’d make things less difficult on myself by pretending it was real. I knew if I sent the seamstress away again today, Massimo would think I was being difficult and punish me for it, or some shit.

  It sparkles against the sunlight beaming in from the long French windows of the hall. It’s truly, truly perfect. It’s probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  Just like the ring on my finger, however, it doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. It feels like it doesn’t belong on me.

  Both remind me of poison. The same way poison works its way into your body and slowly kills you. Both the dress and the ring have that effect on me.

  Both are designed to hurt me.

  Both are a poisonous reminder that I am owned.

  I belong to Massimo D’Agostino, and just like one of his many assets, I am property. That is all I am to him, nothing more.

  “How’s it going in there?” the seamstress calls out from the other side of the curtains. The hall was set up so I’d have some privacy to change.

  “Good, I… like this one,” I reply. I give myself a once-over in the mirror and make my way out through the curtains.

  The seamstress gasps, along with Priscill
a and Candace, who came to help me. I swear Priscilla looks like she’s going to cry. It makes me think of how I imagined my mom to be during this time. I tear up at the thought.

  “My God,” Priscilla says. She walks up to me and holds out her hands to take mine. I give them to her, and she gently squeezes. “Emelia, you look truly beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much,” I reply.

  “My dear, you are one of the most beautiful brides I’ve ever seen,” the seamstress states, bringing her hands together.

  Candace nods her agreement. “I second that. You look amazing.”

  “Thank you all. I guess this is the winning dress, then,” I reply.

  “Definitely a winner,” she agrees. “It’s perfect. I think we just need to take in the top here a little bit.” She tugs on the edge of the binding.

  “Okay.”

  “And may I suggest having your hair up to show off the back design? And a tiara, unless you specially want a veil.”

  “I like the idea of my hair up and the tiara,” I agree completely. When I first saw the dress, I already thought the back needed to be displayed. It has scallops going down the curve. It’s as beautiful as the front.

  “Perfect. You’re an easy bride to work with,” she beams, rubbing her hands together. Her green eyes sparkle with delight and the crow’s feet at the corners crinkle as she smiles wide.

  If there’s one thing I’ve noticed so far, it’s that everyone who’s been in contact with me since coming to live here has been really nice.

  “Thanks, I’m glad to hear.”

  “Okay, go change, and I’ll work my magic. I’ll come back in a few days, and we’ll talk shoes and accessories.”

  “That sounds great.” It sounds like I’m talking by default. Like the words are coming out of my mouth, but I don’t know what I’m actually saying.

  Candace seems to notice. I can tell from the sympathetic look she offers me.

  I duck back behind the curtains and place a hand at my heart when I look at myself again in the mirror.

  I wish I could be happier.

  I wish this moment could feel better, that I weren’t marrying a monster who has this effect on me I can’t explain. It hurt me to no end when he called me nothing. I can’t quite explain how it hurt me when he said it. It felt worse than feeling like a thing. Now, I’m not so sure where I am in my mind. What I am is stuck.

  I change into a pair of jeans and a camisole. Clothes. My actual clothes.

  When I woke this morning, there were two things in my room that I didn’t have yesterday. The first was my suitcases and bags I was supposed to take to Florence, and the second was a little bit of freedom. The door was open. It wasn’t locked. I could walk around outside the room, and I could open the window.

  It was clear that he’d specifically come into the room last night while I was asleep and done all of that. I just knew it was him. The scent of him lingered in the air.

  What wasn’t there was my art supplies and paintings. I don’t know if that was because Dad didn’t send them, or if they are here and Massimo decided not to give them to me. I don’t know.

  By the time I unpacked my stuff and changed, it was time for my dress fitting.

  I pull my hair back into a ponytail and head out again with the dress. The seamstress takes it from me and places it in a bag.

  Candace walks up to me and taps my shoulder. She isn’t wearing her uniform today. Instead, she’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Her hair is braided to the side, and she wears a pair of Converses that make her look trendy.

  “I’m hanging out with you today,” she says. “How about a walk on the beach?”

  I smile at that. “I would love to.”

  “You girls get back in time for lunch,” Priscilla says.

  “We will,” Candace replies. I just smile because it’s not like I have a choice.

  We leave the hall and head down the same corridor I walked with Massimo last night, but instead of taking the stairs leading up to the terrace, we go down another set of stairs. The door opens out right onto a patio that leads to the beach. As Candace opens the doors, the salty scent of the sea washes over me and I feel alive.

  It’s amazing what we take for granted in life. Small things like feeling the hot sun on my skin as the languid breeze lift the ends of my hair are things I’ve missed so much over the last few days. I smile and savor the feeling, savor the freedom.

  And since I absolutely love walking on the beach, I take off my shoes so I can feel the sand between my toes.

  Candace chuckles. I smile back.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” she asks.

  “Oh yes. I always take my shoes off when I’m on the beach.”

  “Maybe I’m too used to it,” she answers. “Let’s go this way.”

  We walk down near the rock pool and sit on the sand where it offers a scenic view of endless sea. It reminds me of Italy. Of the beach in Tuscany Dad always took me and Ma to when we went on vacation.

  “Let’s stay here for a while, then I’ll show you around the rest of the place and maybe give you a tour of the house,” she says.

  I guess she must have been given the okay to show me more than the beach.

  “Thank you. This is beautiful,” I say. “I love it.”

  “Me too. My family is from Sicily. The beach where they live is just like this.”

  “My family is from Tuscany. The beach there is gorgeous too,” I say.

  She nods, agreeing. “When did you last go back?”

  “A few years ago, with my mother. Just before… before she died.” It’s still hard to say the words that confirm her death.

  She looks sad to hear that. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It was a few years ago. I still miss her so much, but death happens, doesn’t it.” I sound braver than I feel. Those words mask the truth of what I feel deep inside. I still cry for her. That sadness never ends, and I know if she were alive now, this wouldn’t be happening to me.

  “Yeah… death happens,” she replies. Sadness clouds her eyes. “Both my parents are dead. It was an accident.”

  “I’m sorry to hear,” I sympathize.

  “Thanks.”

  “My mom had cancer. That last trip to Tuscany was her last visit to her homeland. We painted… that’s what I do. I paint.”

  “What do you paint?” She sounds intrigued.

  “Everything. Anything my imagination conjures up.”

  “That sounds cool. I write poetry. I stuck with it after college.”

  “After?” I thought she was close to my age.

  “After. I’m twenty-five.”

  “You look a lot younger.” She beams.

  “Thank you. I think it’s my youthful spirit.” She giggles. “I studied English literature. I wanted to be a teacher, but I guess I’ll get myself together eventually. It can be tough out there trying to get started in your career.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. My launch into my career has been tough for a reason I’m sure most people never encounter, and it looks like it’s never going to happen for me. “How long have you worked here?”

  “Years. I’ve known Massimo all my life though.” Her face shows that fond look I’ve seen on Pricilla’s face. I hope she isn’t going to sing his praises or do anything like that. I don’t want to hear it.

  “If it’s okay, I… don’t really want to talk about him,” I say. That’s the best way I can put it without sounding too rude, although I probably do sound exactly that.

  “You don’t have to.” She nods. “I’m not here for that. I thought maybe you could use someone to talk to. Or just hang with. If you do want to talk about him, though, I swear everything you say will be strictly off the record. I mean that.”

  I gaze at her wondering if I can let my guard down and trust her. She and Priscilla have been nice to me, but that doesn’t mean anything when it comes to loyalty.

  I learned well from dealing with p
eople who worked for my father. In the end, they would always answer to him. Maybe though… I could just talk about the things on my mind that she must already be aware of.

  “It’s hard, hard being here. Hard… doing what I’m doing. Marrying a man I don’t know,” I explain. Suddenly, I feel like I want to spill my heart.

  She nods, understanding. “I know. I can only imagine. I could see it as you tried on one dress after another. You look like you want to be happy because the dresses and your ring are so beautiful, but the situation spoils it.”

  She hit the nail on the head. “Yeah. All my hopes and dreams crushed just like that. My life stolen. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live like this. There’s no escape for me.”

  She looks down at the sand, stares at it for a moment, then her gaze flicks back up to meet mine.

  “Emelia…” Her voice trails off. “I feel sorry that this has happened to you. I confess that I don’t agree. I’m paid to do a job, but I see many things I don’t like. Your father did a lot to Massimo’s family, but I don’t agree that you have to suffer for it.”

  My interest piques at her words. She sounds like she might have answers.

  “I don’t know what he did. I don’t know anything. Up until last week, I never even knew my father knew the D’Agostinos.”

  “Yeah, that figures. Women and children are kept out of business. I wasn’t so lucky. Just like Massimo. I saw the ugly side when I was far too young. It changes you forever.”

  As she speaks, I get the impression that there’s more to her story than just her parents’ accident.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “I… can’t talk about my story. Not yet anyway. Maybe someday.” She gives me a nervous, shaky smile. “Massimo though… things changed a lot for him when his family lost everything. My family has served the D’Agostinos for many generations. Being the help’s daughter, I hear things. I saw things. I know things I probably shouldn’t.”

  My chest tightens. “Like what?”

  “Have you ever heard of the syndicate?”

  I shake my head. “No. Never.”